Cooking after midnight
So, I don’t generally cook after midnight. It’s one of those rules. Generally, I snack, or resort to food that can be nuked that late. I don’t cook after midnight for a very good reason: if I’m hungry enough to want real, honest to god food, it generally means I’ve forgotten to eat that day. Therefore, low blood sugar.
However, tonight, I simply had to have eggs. Two eggs sunnyside down, and four pieces of buttered toast. It was vital. Absolutely necessary in my endeavor to finish the history paper from hell.
So I heated up the pan. Put in half a teaspoon of virgin olive oil, and cracked two eggs into the pan. Now, this pan is one of those non-stick funky pans. Not cast iron - that being what I’ve cooked on the vast majority of my life.
They screamed. The eggs I mean, not the pan. Screamed. Little high pitched sceeeeeeems.
Usually, this would put me off food. For while. I disapprove of my food taking back to me. Squeaky cheese is, of course, an exception to this because it squeaks, and also it is cheese. But generally, really. Screaming food.
This time however, this time I giggled. Pressed down on the eggs a bit (not enough to brake the yoke, of course) to encourage the screams. Than decided that two would simply not be enough. I had to have four eggs and eight pieces of well buttered toast.
So I did.
They were delicious, my screaming eggs.
And here I thought I was going to post about sanity returning.
However, tonight, I simply had to have eggs. Two eggs sunnyside down, and four pieces of buttered toast. It was vital. Absolutely necessary in my endeavor to finish the history paper from hell.
So I heated up the pan. Put in half a teaspoon of virgin olive oil, and cracked two eggs into the pan. Now, this pan is one of those non-stick funky pans. Not cast iron - that being what I’ve cooked on the vast majority of my life.
They screamed. The eggs I mean, not the pan. Screamed. Little high pitched sceeeeeeems.
Usually, this would put me off food. For while. I disapprove of my food taking back to me. Squeaky cheese is, of course, an exception to this because it squeaks, and also it is cheese. But generally, really. Screaming food.
This time however, this time I giggled. Pressed down on the eggs a bit (not enough to brake the yoke, of course) to encourage the screams. Than decided that two would simply not be enough. I had to have four eggs and eight pieces of well buttered toast.
So I did.
They were delicious, my screaming eggs.
And here I thought I was going to post about sanity returning.